Just Another Day
by Call it Maglc
Summary: Molly is in love with Sherlock. Sherlock is... well, Sherlock. Drabble. Sherlock/Molly pairing.
1. The Science of The Internet

_**Hey, everyone! This is my first Sherlock fictions since I've just recently discovered this show, and at that it's pretty much drabble. The pairing is Sherlolly (So much fun to say!), and hopefully you won't take very much dislike to it :) All the little stories are barely intertwined, so just take note of that. It's a bit off a comic relief series, really. A romantic comedy, I suppose. I think that's all... oh, yes. I own NOTHING AT ALL. Accept my own character Pauline, who is just there because there's not a real character to take her place. Enjoy! :)**_

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><p>1) The Science of the Internet<p>

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><p>Molly Hooper walked as quickly as she could to Pauline's cubicle, almost running if it wasn't for her two-inch heels, which she could trip on even if she was just standing. "Pauline! Pauline, you'll never guess what!" she whispered excitedly, a huge smile across her face. Molly had her auburn hair parted in the middle, as always, and her cheeks were rosy from her quick flight up to the IT part of St. Bart's Hospital. She hadn't put her lab coat on yet, because she'd only just arrived, and she had wanted to share the good news with her friend before she actually got her hands dirty. "Pauline!"<p>

Her friend, Pauline, turned around, a questioning look on her face. Pauline was only about 5' 4" tall, two inches shorter than Molly, and had her dark black hair up into a neat ponytail, as she always did. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows raised a bit in confusion, and her glossy pink lips (courtesy of Connie Prince's advice) turned up in a smirk. Her almond shaped eyes, which were almost black and showed off her tinge of Asian heritage, had just a hint of light pink eyeshadow, and her eyelashes curled up with her black mascara. "Good morning to you too," she teased.

"No time for such formalities when there's such big news to share!" Molly nearly squealed and took a seat on Pauline's counter-top. Pauline sighed.

"Well, you just sat on my pile of patients families to call, but that's cool if you just sit there," she sighed and leaned back in her swivel chair. "I know there's nothing stopping you from telling me, so speak now or forever hold your peace."

"Thank you, oh mighty powerful Queen of Wit, for your unnecessary comments," Molly said in an irritated voice, but smiled. "Anyways, you'll never guess what I found online!"

"A picture of a fat guy wearing zebra-print pants."

"I now see the error in my ways in showing you that photograph of a fat guy wearing cow-print pants," Molly sighed, rolling her eyes. "No, of course not! Now guess!"

"I already did!"

"At least try!"

Pauline looked thoughtful for a moment. "It involves Sherlock Holmes," she said, this time rolling her own eyes. Molly bit her lip and peeked out the cubicle, looking left and right before ducking back in again and swinging like a child on Pauline's desk.

"Yes!" she grinned like a maniac. "He's got his own website! Can you believe that?" Pauline sighed and held her head in her hand, her elbow resting next to her keyboard.

"Molly, don't you think this little obsession has gone far enough? I mean, ever since he first came into the hospital to inspect some dead body, he's all you ever talk about! Whatever happened to our long Connie Prince marathons, or shopping days? Honestly, it's like you're in love with him!"

"But I AM in love with him, Pauline! Well, at least I think I am. I mean, he's so intelligent, and so handsome... oh, can't you just see it, Pauline? Someday he's going to propose to me, and we'll be married! I can just see myself walking down the isle in a beautiful-"

"MOLLY!"

"Sorry, I was getting a little off topic, wasn't I?"

Pauline raised an eyebrow, unsmiling. "A little?"

"Okay, a lot. And I'm sorry we havn't been hanging out as much. Maybe you'd like a coffee at lunch break?" Molly asked, trying to keep her friendship. Pauline sighed.

"I've got a lot to do today after taking a day off last week, and I'm going to need to eat and work at the same time, but I suppose Thursday could do."

"Then it's settled, Thursday," Molly said. "But anyways, I was Googling his name-"

"Like always."

Molly blushed. "I've only done it a few times! But I was scrolling through some pages- Pauline don't give me that look! I was bored, not desperate! But I was looking, and I found an interesting looking page. Here, let me show you." Molly hopped up from the counter-top and leaped to Pauline's computer, typing in a website at the top. "Ah ha! Here it is!" Molly pulled up a blue and black colored page, with cool designs covering it. Pauline leaned forward in her chair to read it.

"'The Science of Deduction'?" she read, eyebrow still raised. Molly nodded her head.

"Yes, he's put all of his wonderful brain power onto this website, and even reports cases he's solved! Isn't that just fantastic?" Molly smiled. Pauline sighed, closing the tab and turning to Molly.

"Molly, this little crush is taking over your life. You need to start getting your eyes back on the prize, your work. Your work is to clean up the dead corpses, and run tests on them to see how they died, if diseased. Correct?" Molly looked over at a wall, avoiding her friend's gaze.

"I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"Okay, yes! Yes, it's my job, but Pauline, I'm thirty-one years old! I live alone with my cat, I'm getting old! It's about time I finally got into some kind of a relationship!"

"With a guy who barely even talks to you?"

"He does_ too_ talk to me!"

"Yeah, when?" Pauline challenged. Molly was quiet for a second.

"Well... the other day he asked me to pass him a scalpel... and we're usually in the same room together, alone. I don't know, it's like there's some intimate connection. Maybe he's just not showing it, or he's scared of commitment, or something. But Pauline, we can't all be like you! I mean, you're only twenty-five and engaged! You're six years younger than I and bloody engaged already!" Molly said, a little ticked off at her closest friend. Both woman's eyes darted to Pauline's engagement ring, which sparkled a bit in the light. Pauline hid her ring under her other hand, trying not to set any more barriers in their friendship.

"For one, those are hardly intimate things. And two, yes, I'm engaged, you don't have to tell me. Listen, I know what you mean. Maybe you skipped this phase in your life as a teenager or younger woman, but I know what you've got. You've got a crush on him, majorly. Do you remember back in high school? All the girls at sleepovers talking about their crushes?" Pauline asked, a small smile upon her face. Molly couldn't help smiling back.

"Those were the good old days, huh? Back when your biggest worry was what clothing you were wearing and such," Molly sighed. "Of course, my mother didn't let me have sleepovers very often, so those memories are a little bit more distant than I suppose yours are."

"Well, you've definitely got a crush on him, although I cannot imagine why. Tell you what, for the sake of our marathons in watching and shopping, I'll help you out. I'll be like your own personal cupid," Pauline grinned at the thought. Molly nearly jumped up and down giddily like a little elementary schooler.

"Oh, would you, Pauline? Are you sure it'll work? He's awfully hard to even talk to, and whenever he comes around, I feel like such a mouse. Does that make any sense at all? That I feel like a mouse whenever he's around?" Molly asked her friend. Pauline had a weird face, but ignored Molly's question.

"I'm sure this'll work. Do you love him or not?"

"Of course I do!"

"Well, then, you just listen up to me. I'll give you advice and all that, and you'll put it into action. Why don't we start today?" Pauline said eagerly. Molly's smile faded slowly, and she fiddled with her necklace.

"Well... um, it's just... I don't know, today? Aren't we rushing...?"

"Molly! I will not have you chicken out on me once I've gotten fired up about this! Do you understand?" Pauline said sharply. Molly bit her lip and nodded. "Good, well, why don't you tell me what he likes?"

"Uh, well, I honestly don't know much about him, and his website doesn't give out a lot of personal information. I know he like coffee, black with two sugars is his favorite. He's always asking me to get him that exact order," Molly said proudly. Pauline sighed.

"We've got a lot to work on."

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><p>"I can't do this," Molly whispered, terrified. She leaned against the wall, breathing in and out as evenly as possible. "I have to. You can do this, Molly. You've got this. You can change your whole life just by doing this. It'll be quick and painless," Molly pep-talked herself, trying to boost her morale. She closed her eyes, counting to ten slowly. When she opened her eyes, she took a deep breath, and moved off the wall to the door beside her. Her grip was on the handle and she glanced in the window on the door. Sherlock was inside, looking into a microscope and it looked like he was mumbling to himself about something. His curls would bounce ever so slightly when he turned from the microscope to a piece of paper and quickly jotting something down onto it will a pencil. And his eyes were as blue as ice, such a light color that Molly's heart just flipped whenever they looked at her, even for brief seconds. He was so handsome...<p>

Sherlock turned and stared directly at Molly in the door. Molly shrieked and ducked down, hiding under the window. Good God, she _was_ such a mouse around him. She quickly stood back up and opened the door before she could chicken out again. "Ha ha, sorry, I just dropped my key, had to pick it up again," she smiled too much and Sherlock barely glanced at her, looking back to his work.

"You do know that the door was open? You hardly needed a key," he said, not looking up and scribbling something down. Molly just stood there, biting her lip, then cleared her throat. "Oh, yes, I suppose so. How foolish of me! Well, uh... how was your weekend?"

"Monotonous," he answered. "Not a single murder in the paper. I've resorted down to testing and retesting the same experiment over and over." Molly's heart leaped that she had actually got a response out of him. Pauline's plan to just talk to him seemed to be working!

"How dreadful!" Molly commented, taking a few cautious steps forward. "What does it take to get a quality murder nowadays? Oh dear, that sounds bad, doesn't it? Well, uh... so if you're not very busy then, possibly yo-"

"Would you mind sharpening this pencil please, it's almost down to the wood," he said, interrupting and still peering into the microscope and holding the pencil out so Molly could grab it. Molly's mouth was still in the shape of an "O", and she was frozen. Suddenly, she seemed to wake up again and nodded vigorously.

"Oh, yes, of course," she said, taking the pencil. "These darned things, they always seem to dull out at the worst times, don't they? If only someone made a writing utensil that wouldn't run out so quickly." She laughed nervously.

"They have. It's called a pen," Sherlock said in monotone, still glancing into the microscope and pulling a different pencil out of his jacket pocket. Molly blushed at her stupidity and nodded nervously.

"Oh, yes, nearly forgot about the pen," she said, babbling. "Well, I'd better go get this sharpened, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, that would be ideal." He still didn't look up.

"Okay then..." she walked over to the door and softly closed it behind her. When it was closed, she bit her lip and suppressed a giggle. She had been promoted! He now trusted her to sharpen his own pencil! Molly skipped all the way down to the pencil sharpener like a schoolgirl, even though the closest one was up two flights of stairs. 

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><p>The Personal Blog of Molly Hooper:<p>

_Dear Blog,_  
><em>Wow, this is kind of funny. It's like a diary entry, isn't it? Except it's on the Internet. And people can read it. Oh well. <em>  
><em>Anyways, I've decided to start keeping a blog, so I can recount my day. I'm pretty sure the only one who's reading this is you, Pauline, but I've decided to keep some people's names a little hushed up, you know... just in case of things.<em>  
><em>Today, I got great advice from Pauline about flirting, which I've never been very good at. You see, there's this guy who I work with who I like.<em>  
><em>Okay, REALLY like.<em>  
><em>He's tall and handsome, and has the best ice colored eyes you've ever seen in your life! For privacy purposes, I'll just call him You-know-who, because if you're reading this then you should know who it is! Otherwise, I don't even know you and you could be anyone! So that's what his name is.<em>  
><em>Anyways, Pauline gave me advice to flirting. Number one, just talk to him! So that's what I did! I just talked to him today, and what do you know, suddenly he's wanting me to do all these helpful things for him like sharpening his pencils, and telling me about his weekend! He didn't even correct me when I made a mistake. Okay, he did, but he told me easily, not roughly or anything. Twice. Talk about killing multiple birds with one stone! <em>  
><em>Tomorrow, Pauline and I are going shopping for a bit of a new wardrobe. I've saved up a bit of money ever since Christmas, and we're going to see what kind of things I could buy to impress You-know-who. But nothing too low cut, or too high up, or too obviously flirtatious. Or fur. Or bright yellow. I'd look like a big banana. That would get attention, but not the kind I'm seeking. That's the thing about flirting, you have to do it secretly, confidentially! Wish us luck! Too-da loo!<em>  
><em>-Molly<em>

**1** comment(s):

**PaulineS:** Molly, that wasn't flirting, it was being an idiot. You have much to learn, but at least I can teach you the basics of fashion tomorrow. See you then! XOXO

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><p><em><strong>Thanks for tolerating this chapter :P More to come soon!<strong>_

_**Best Wishes,**_

_**Aktress.**_


	2. The Science of Helping

**_2) The Science of Helping_**

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><p><strong><strong>_  
><em>Molly Hooper sat quietly in her office, drinking a cup of coffee that her assistant had brought in. It was just the way she and her husband Sherlock liked it, black, two sugars. She smiled at his picture on her desk, and he smiled back at her. Molly was on top of the world, and life couldn't get any better.  
><strong><em><br>_**

Well, it wasn't an office, really. She wasn't special or talented enough to have her own office. No, it was the staff and faculty's break room. And Molly didn't have an assistant. She had made her own coffee. But it WAS black with two sugars. Molly hated it, but she was trying to get used to it. Someday, when Sherlock finally realised that he was perfect for her, she could drink the same kind of coffee that he did. And she had no picture of Sherlock, she had rarely even seen him smile. Molly wasn't on top of the world. Life sucked, really. Molly took another sip of the coffee and shuddered.

"How can he drink this?" she mumbled, and got up, looking around the coffee maker. "Where's the sugar, anyways? Creamer?" she opened the fridge, and there was no milk or creamer in sight. She slammed the door shut and marched over to the cabinets. Flinging one door open, she searched for the sugar. Spotting it, she smiled triumphantly. Molly opened the box of sugar cubes and her smile instantly melted, a scowl replacing it.

"One sugar left! Unbelievable!" she cried out, throwing the box back in the cabinet and growling. "Screw it! I don't even want coffee! I'm making tea!" She placed the sloshing mug of black coffee in the microwave, keeping it on warm. Who knows, maybe Sherlock would want it later. She filled the metal tea kettle with water from the sink and placed it on the back burner. A nice black tea, now that would help her much more than black coffee.

Molly sat back down on the sofa and looked up at the clock above the door. She had about 11 minutes left on her break. She pulled light pink knit sweater closer to her, since the heater seemed not to be working well. Her lab coat hung up by the door, since she honestly didn't want to spill coffee or anything else on it. And it was uncomfortable to sit in. Molly curled her legs up on the sofa to keep warm. The break room was silent. It was almost relaxing... So quiet...

The door slammed open, and Molly jumped nearly a foot in the near. She even squeaked a little. There, standing in the doorway was the most tall, handsome man she'd ever seen. His long, black overcoat and dark blue scarf flapped behind him as he walked in like a cape. His hands were in his pocket, and his ice blue eyes darted around the room, finally settling on Molly.

"Molly, shouldn't you be at your workstation?" he asked, raising a dark eyebrow. It was the same shade as his dark, thick, curly brown hair... it was so gorgeous...

"Uh... um, I'm on my break. I've got about 9 minutes left," Molly blabbered. Sherlock nodded and looked over to the coffee maker. Molly noticed him looking over to the coffee maker and saw her oppertunity. "I uh... I've already got some coffee made for you, if you.. you want it." Sherlock stared at her. It was a good thing Molly was sitting or her legs would give out on her.

"Delightful. Fetch that, if you don't mind," he said, hanging his dark coat up and revealing a deep periwinkle colored sleeved shirt with the collar unbuttoned. Molly's heart started racing._ Today's the day, Molly. You're going to make a real connection with him today._ Molly ran over to the microwave and took the coffee out, thanking God that she hadn't poured it down the drain like she'd first planned. She carefully walked back over to Sherlock, who was pacing the floor.

"Here you are," she said with a terrified smile. "Won't you sit down?"

"No, no, much too much to think over. Sitting would only slow the brain down. I'd make myself more comfortable, allow my mind to wader upon other, unrelated topics. I mustn't allow myself to do that. If only I could figure this out, this little puzzle," Sherlock said, taking the cup of coffee and taking a drink. He didn't cringe or cough, and Molly was amazed. It seemed almost impossible that anyone could do that.

"Well, perhaps I can help," Molly said hesitantly. Sherlock looked directly at her, silent for a moment.

"I can't waste much time."

"Have you any leads? Then why not explain. I... I might be able to help," Molly said almost shakily.

Sherlock sighed. "I'll make this as brief as possible. A man, Fredrick Cays, 27, went missing from his home precisely twenty-nine hours ago from now at his home at Brimden Park South-East 80293. He was last seen by his wife and child that night at dinner, just two hours before they discovered he was gone. No answer from his phone, no phone calls from him. Just vanished into thin air. His window was six stories up, and it was bolted shut. There was only one door, besides his closet. Everywhere surrounding was thoroughly searched, no sign of the man. His wife, Rebbecca Cays, says that he had no enemies she knew of, but she wouldn't be interviewed with the police. She refused, which could lead to the question of if she is the kidnapper, or killer, if Cays turns up dead. His son, Harry, 6, won't stop crying, they can't get a word out of him. Their maid, Sherry McCullah, 42, has been on vacation for two weeks now, an odd little fact that seems to stick out to me. Her husband helped clean the house often. The family moved into their house only about a month ago, if it changes a thing. Apparently, Mr McCullah had just suffered from heart attack and died directly after the family moved.

"This morning, Mr McCullah was found dead in their kitchen, head bashed in, the stove left on and tea kettle going mad. The whole back of his skull was broken, and it was the only damaged part of his body. No real weapons where found in the room, but anything can be turned into a weapon, if used properly. The son is traumatized and the wife won't speak. All points turn towards the wife, but why? We cant get any information out of either her or the son. Rebbecca is described by her friends as soft-spoken and couldn't hurt a fly. They swear she's innocent, but could not prove it. What caused his death, what bashed his brain in, was still a mystery, and who did it. What do you make of it?"

Molly was stumped. In fact, she had barely heard of half of what he said, she was too busy staring at him. His perfectly shaped face, thin and beyond pale. His almost black curly hair perfectly framing his face. His slim, fit body, and his slim fingers that tapped his coffee mug every so often. His long legs that were connected to his feet that paced across the room. And his eyes, oh God, his eyes! Molly thought she would die a happy women if she could just look into his eyes for all of eternity... her thoughts were broken by the screaming tea kettle on the burner. She scrambled up and lifted the screaming thing off of the hot burner. The whistling slowly deteriorated and she grabbed mug and tea bag. Sherlock set his mug down on the coffee table and put his hands together in an almost praying position, but Molly knew he was just thinking.

"Well... the bit about the maid... she's been gone three weeks?" Molly said, hoping to sound a bit smart.

"Two weeks, Mrs. Cays says she's been visiting her mother in France, one of her only statements. The maid was hardly suspected as-" he stopped for a moment, talking, moving, Molly wouldn't doubt if he wasn't breathing. "Oh... that is brilliant. The maid would never be suspected. Of course, gone two weeks, visiting her mother. No one would even think of her. But why? What was her motivation?"

"Well, it could be-"

"Of course!" he cried out, running his long fingers through his gorgeous hair. What Molly wouldn't do to run her fingers through his hair... "Her husband! Mr McCullah, he suffered a heart attack directly after the move. She blames him, believes that the move caused him enough stress to kill him. Revenge, that's what she was planning. But where did she stay? There must be a basement in the house, where else could she keep such a close eye on the family, especially Cays, who is the man of the house, the one who makes final decisions. It was his fault that her husband died. Now, why exactly did she wait to kill him, and why the kitchen?"

Molly still was barely listening, taking in his whole figure, standing there in her presence. The two were alone in the break room. The whole thing was so... intimate. Well, maybe not intimate, but not so normal, either. Molly took the tea kettle and began pouring the water over the tea bag. She turned back around to face Sherlock, trying to look as beautiful as she could even with her knit pink sweater and drab hair. But his attention wasn't on her, it was behind her. "Now what're you lookin'-"

"AHA!" he laughed, clapping his hands together. "Oh, Molly! Molly, Molly, Molly, you ordinary genius!" Molly's heart was pounding. She had never heard him laugh before, and rarely seen him smile. His eyes sparkled even more when he laughed, and he never looked so alive. Or so fantastic. She had to smile too.

"R-really?" she blushed.

"Oh, yes! The tea kettle! That's the answer! Oh, that's bloody brilliant! The tea kettle was left on when they found Cays' body lying in the kitchen, the heat still on! Someone was making tea, and that someone was Mrs McCullah. She had come up from the basement to make a cup of tea, and her prisoner, Cays, got out from the basement. He tried escaping, but he must've been bound up. He stumbled into the kitchen, and she smashed the back of his head in with the metal tea kettle. She put it back on the burner, but ran as soon as she heard people running down the staircase, leaving the kettle to blow! Though why she hadn't already killed him is still a mystery to me, I assume I should figure that out," Sherlock said, smiling and laughing the whole time.

"That... that's amazing," Molly sputtered out. She wasn't sure if she meant him solving the case, or the fact that he was smiling and laughing, because of her. Sherlock grinned down at her.

"God, how can I have missed that! I could just kiss you right now, Molly. Well, I'd better be off, got to go arrest some old ladies, if you don't mind. Keep up the good work, Molly," he said quickly, grabbing his coat, shrugging into it, and taking his cup of coffee before slamming the door shut again and running off to his hunting grounds.

Molly stood there shocked. The words kept repeating in her head,_ I could just kiss you right now, Molly. I could just kiss you right now, Molly. I could just kiss you right now, Molly_. Molly's heart fluttered and she giggled, now that he was gone. "He could just kiss me," she sighed, closing her eyes and daydreaming. She honestly hadn't helped much, but it didn't matter. He solved the case, and he could just kiss her.

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><p>"Hey, Molly, get a load of this, it's your boyfriend," Pauline said to her friend from the computer. Molly got up off the sofa in Pauline's apartment and walked over, peering over her shoulder to look at the screen.<p>

**"'Amateur inspector baffles Scotland Yard with mysterious Cays' case.'** That's the one! The one I helped out with! Read it!" Molly squealed.

"Read it yourself, you've got two perfectly good eyes!"

"Fine!** 'Amateur detective Sherlock Holmes appeared on the scene of the crime where Fredrick Cays was murdered with a shocking statement that it was not the suspected wife, Rebbecca Cays, but their maid, who had been gone two weeks vacationing. When asked to prove his hypothesis, he showed the police to the basement, a place where the police nor Mrs Cays herself knew about. There, they found the body of Mrs McCullah, their maid, along with a suicide letter. She confesses it was her that killed him, and the guilt that killed herself. "I cannot bear the thought of my dear, deceased husband Arthur thinking of me as such a brutal murder, and the sooner this planet is rid of me, the better." she said. Her motives were blame for her own husband, Arthur McCullah's death not one month ago. Mrs McCullah blamed Mr Cays, and felt no better thing than justice to be his punishment. As for Holmes, he says he could have never solved the case if it wasn't for a tea kettle and a cup of black coffee.**' Oh, my God, that's me! He mentioned me! The tea kettle and the coffee, I helped him with those!"

"Molly! Calm yourself! Honestly, it's like you just won the lottery!" Pauline laughed at her obsessed friend. Molly sighed.

"It think I might have won something better, his attention. "

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><p>The Personal Blog of Molly Hooper:<p>

Dear Blog:

_AHHH! OMG! AHHHHHHOMGAHOMGAHOMG! He SO loves me back! He DOES, really! That.. man. You know who I'm talking about. I helped him solve a murder mystery! Well, I gave him coffee and inspiration, and that should be enough. But he solved it, nonetheless, and he even mentioned me in his interview! Well, not directly, but I know it was aimed towards me. Oh, I swear! I could dance all the way to the heart of London, I could. But I can't, because then I'll be late for work in the morning._

_-Molly_

_(P.S. These are his exact words: I could just kiss you right now, Molly. DEAD SERIOUS! He actually said that to me! And don't tell me it was all in my head, because my head is perfectly screwed on right, and I knew exactly what he said! Oh, I won't easily forget today...)_

**10** comment(s)

**_PaulineS:_** Way to go, Molly!

**MollyH:** Ohhhh I know! I can't believe he actually said that!

**SarahS:** Oh, hi, is this Molly Hooper from St. Bart's Hospital? It's Sarah.

**MollyH:** Sarah Sawyer?

**SarahS**: Yeah, you told me to look you up after the nurse's convention, remember?

**MollyH:** Ah, yeah! Great to hear from you, Sarah!

**SarahS**: So who's this mysterious man you keep talking about?

**MollyH:** Uh, it's a bit confidential...

**PaulineS:** Uh oh, looks like little miss Popular doesn't want to share her secret ;)

**MollyH: **Shut it, Pauline.

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><p><strong><em>Don't own anything. Characters copywrited by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (now a zombie) and BBC (which only broadcasts on PBS in America. You think they could get a better channel.)<em>**

**_Best Wishes,_**

**_Aktress._**


	3. The Science of Intelligence

3) The Science of Intelligence

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><p>"Trust me, this can't possibly can't go wrong," Pauline said as Molly adjusted her bluetooth earpiece. Molly bit her lip.<p>

"Don't say that. Whenever someone says that in movies, something goes horribly wrong," Molly sighed. Pauline rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on, it's like you said, that's only in movies! Last time I checked, we were all in real life. Now, this'll be easy. I'm the one who has to do all the real work. Now move your tail along, go find Sherlock!"

"He might have already left. I let him into the lab twenty minutes ago...," Molly hesitated. One look from Pauline made Molly shut up and walk out of Pauline's cubicle. She began walking down to the morgue section of the hospital where she thought it would be most likely to find Sherlock. Her phone began ringing, and she clicked 'Answer'. Immediately, Pauline's voice came into her ear through the bluetooth.

"Molly? Molly! Okay, listen, is it working?" came Pauline's voice.

"Loud and clear," she answered, walking down a flight of stairs.

"Good. Now listen, Molly. Go find Sherlock. Then I'll give you more instructions."

"I don't even know if he's still in the lab!" Molly hissed. "This is impossible!"

"Hush up! Now go find him!"

"Yes, mother," Molly grumbled. She hopped down two more flights of stairs and down the hallway before arriving to the research room that Molly had let him in that morning. She knew she was being used by him, he had commented on how lovely her eyes looked that day. She had nearly giggled in front of him, and let him in, of course. Molly looked in the window. "Nothing. He's not here."

"Not where?"

"In the lab. He's not here, he must be out, now. Oh, well! We tried. Why don't we just-"

"Oh, no. You're not giving up THAT easily. Go check the morgue. He might be there."

Molly groaned. "Pauline, I don't-"

"Go. Check. The. Morgue."

Molly hissed. "Fine! I'm going, I'm going!" Molly stomped out of the lab, her heart thumping. She was so torn over Sherlock. She loved every second that he was in her presence, because he was so beautiful and brilliant. But she dreaded seeing him again, because whenever he looked at her, her legs were jelly. He also made her feel like a bloody fool with his incredible intelligence. She sighed as she walked three flights of stairs down to the morgue section of the hospital. Was this a hopeless mission? Pauline was to feed her lines through the bluetooth and she'd say them to Sherlock. In the end, the mission was to get a date with him, out to dinner or something. But Molly's stomach had been churning for a bit now. Why couldn't her love life be a bit more normal? Did normal people always make complete fools of themselves in front of the people they liked?

Molly reached the morgue and her heart began to beat quickly as she glanced in the window. It was about a story up from the actual morgue that Sherlock sometimes liked testing theories on bodies in. Sure enough, there he was, just standing there, with one hand up to his face, his chin, to be more precise. His eyes were narrowed a bit, and he was thinking. Next to him on a table was a corpse, and a morbid looking one, at that. It was a man, rather fat, and a huge gash across his large cheek. Both his hands were missing, with bloody stumps of arms. Molly would have cringed, but she was used to that kind of thing. Plus the fact that her eyes were only on Sherlock.

"Spotted him," she squeaked, then cleared her throat.

"Keep your voice normal, now go in! Here goes nothing!" Pauline said excitedly. Molly looked at her hand on the doorknob. It was shaking.

"Yeah, nothing," she said, then opened the door. As soon as she stepped in, Sherlock's head whipped up towards her. Molly stopped dead in her spot, her heart pounding at it's maximum capacity.

"He's staring at me, what do I do?" Molly whispered frantically.

"Make a conversation! Say hi or something!" Pauline hissed back.

"Um, hello, again!" Molly cried out, waving to Sherlock nervously. His lips moved just barely and he turned back around, staring at the corpse. Molly didn't hear anything, but she supposed he said something like, 'Hello' back.

"How are you doing?" Pauline fed Molly. Molly began walking down the staircase.

"What are you doing?" Molly blundered up her line, but she supposed it didn't matter much, since either way it was perfectly fine to say. She made it to the end of the staircase and began to walk towards the man. Sherlock didn't turn around.

"Don't get too close," he mumbled. Molly stepped dead in her tracks.

"Ask why," Pauline said.

"W-why?" Molly asked.

"Copper's Flu. Still highly contagious even after death. Entered through the man's cut," Sherlock said.

"So... what are you doing then?" Molly asked. "I mean, if you already know how he died, what else is there to know?"

"Good job, you're making convo all on your own!" Pauline squealed. Molly smiled a little, but not enough that Sherlock might find her crazy. It's not like he was looking, anyways. His attention was still on the body.

"The murderer, the person who could've killed Mr Charles Polly, and why," Sherlock said, pulling his phone out quickly and frantically texting someone.

"He really thinks it's a murder? Couldn't it be an accident?" Pauline whispered.

"You really think it's a murder?" Molly repeated. "I mean, it could just be an accident, after all. Just a cut, could be caused by... by anything."

"Anything, yes, but highly unlikely. I've already spoken with multiple friends and co-workers of his. He would have reported cutting himself like that accidentally. Copper's Flu wouldn't instantly climb into an open cut like that, no matter how big it is. It would take some kind of weapon with the disease dipped with it. A knife, ax, something that would cut it. But I can't figure out what it is, or who did it, not to mention the unnecessary loss of hands. He worked as a plumber, and therefore had no visible reason to die, no one that hated him. He wasn't rich, didn't have an appealing wife, he's a very odd target," Sherlock rambled, like he usually did.

"Ask what his definition of appealing," Pauline purred. "He says the wife wasn't appealing, ask what was unappealing of her."

"H-how was she unappealing?" Molly interrupted. Sherlock stopped explaining, and turned around, half surprised. It was uncharacteristic of Molly to step up while he was talking. Molly gulped.

"What?" he asked.

"H-how? I mean, why was she unappealing to you?" Molly asked, looking away from him.

"Well, she was old, I suppose," Sherlock stumbled. Molly looked up, completely stunned. It was the first time she had ever seen Sherlock choked up, ever. And it was on such a silly little topic, about how unappealing a woman was. Some would beg to talk on and on about how unappealing a woman could be. But here he was, mastermind, genius, and completely unmovable, stumbling in his words over it.

"Quick, ask him what IS appealing!" Pauline nearly yelled.

"Oh... is that all?" Molly asked. "What... what exactly IS appealing to you?"

"Really, Molly, is this the time to talk about that?" Sherlock asked, pulling his hands up to his face, in prayer stance, his typical way of thinking.

Molly's face began burning. "Well, no, I suppose not, sorry," she tripped up over her words. Sherlock just nodded slowly and turned his attention back to the corpse.

"Right. Well, Mr. Polly had..." Sherlock began describing his research in detail again, but Molly wasn't listening, because Pauline began to yell at her again.

"Molly! No, you can't just do that! You can't just... stop. Give up. New topic, you need to bring one up, quickly! Wait... let me look something up. What was that disease called again?" Pauline asked.

"Copper's Flu," Molly whispered as quietly as she could.

"Right, let me look this up... aha! Copper's Flu... says here that it was discovered by Samuel L Copper just about 20 years ago... enters through the blood, but takes about two days to be identified and about a week to even start causing symptoms. Unless it was inserted directly, however. And, yeah, it's still contagious even after death. Molly, here, repeat EXACTLY what I say," Pauline commanded.

"Okay," Molly whispered.

"... which couldn't work," Sherlock concluded, and Molly had no clue what he was speaking about.

"This Copper's Flu, are you the only one who knows he had it?" Pauline said.

"This Copper's Flu, are you the only one who knows he had it?" Molly repeated.

"No, I've already told the hospital, and now they see it. It's hard to catch from a day to day basis, so-" Sherlock began, but Molly interrupted.

"Then if you tell one of the doctors, they'll be sure to believe you. After all, the disease takes approximately ten hours to enter the body, and even then, it takes two days to identify it, and a whole week to even begin causing real harm. Unless, of course, it was deliberately placed into his bloodstream. If entered close enough to the brain, and it looks like that was his cheek, in which case he would have been paralyzed. An hour later he would have died. Now, where did you say he died?" Molly said smoothly as possible, repeating exactly the words Pauline told her.

For nearly the first time in his life, Sherlock was stunned speechless. His light, ice-blue/grey eyes almost wide with surprise. He just stared at Molly for a second, and she was loving it. Her own dark eyes looked back into his, and she felt hope. Pure hope, that maybe this actually worked, maybe he thought she was a genius, and maybe she was perfect for him. She grinned and blushed, wringing her hands together. Sherlock raised an eyebrow just barely. "I didn't... Mr. Polly was found in his bedroom just this morning."

"So, the crime must have been committed last night, or early this morning. You have the evidence you need, why not go tell them now?" Molly copied.

"The hospital already knows what killed him, Copper's Flu, they don't question that. The hospital is satisfied with knowing how he died, when he died. The real question is who killed him, who injected or cut the disease into the man," Sherlock went on, looking up every now and then curiously at Molly.

"Yes... did you say he had any close associates? Friends who could pose as harmful?" Molly repeated, barely even aware of what she was saying. She was too elated because of the glances Sherlock would give her every now and then.

"No, he didn't have many friends on the job, just two. A Mister Jake and Harris Perrine, twins. But the two men had been with Mrs. Polly at the time, socializing that night, just drinking a little bit. Mr. Polly had already retired for the night. There wasn't a way that the two could have killed Mr. Polly."

"Great job, keep going! What if- no, don't say-" Molly said then stopped suddenly, locking her lips and blushing even harder. Sherlock turned to her and raised an eyebrow. "Uh... I mean, c-could the twins have associates? I've heard that... never mind."

"No..." Sherlock said slowly. "And even if so, the motive is questionable. Why would they murder their friend? Not for his money, job, or-"

"Molly, pull yourself together! Is he too gorgeous for you to thi- No, stop repeating what!- I mean, ha ha, well, the motive might have been that the twins were in some kind of argument with him..." Molly repeated, stuttering and loosing her cool. Sherlock wasn't even noticing her anymore. He was looking at the body again, bent over close, but not too close.

"MOLLY! What are you doing?" Pauline hissed. "And DON'T repeat that!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I was just... not thinking!" Molly whispered.

"Well, get over it! I can't help you much anymore, it's too beyond me. Just ask him if he wants to take a walk to discuss things on your break!" Pauline grumbled.

"Uh... Sherlock? You don't suppose..." Molly began, hoping she wouldn't make such a fool of herself again.

Sherlock suddenly stood up straight again and snapped his fingers. "Of course, the glass!"

Molly stopped talking and cocked her head. "Glass?"

"Yes, the glass! When they were drinking that night, he must have cut himself with the glass and- oh, genius! I have to go to the twin's house and talk with them. The perfect crime, with a seemingly innocent motive," Sherlock grabbed his phone that he'd placed on a table and tossed it in his pocket before rushing to the stairs.

"What was the motive?" Molly asked frantically, begging him internally to not leave. Nothing was working out!

"No time to explain, an immediate visit to the Perrine's would be the best plan," Sherlock said before opening the door and leaving. Molly sighed.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out," Pauline consoled Molly.

"Hey, it was a long shot, and it's not like I've been humiliated in front of him before-" Molly began telling her, but the door opened again. Molly stopped talking and looked up hopefully. Was it him? Her heart started beating faster when the head of dark, curly hair popped back in.

"What? What's happened? Molly?" Pauline cried through the bluetooth.

"Sherlock," Molly whispered.

"Oh, and Molly?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes," she breathed. This was it, this was the moment! He was going to... do something. She wasn't certain, but she was almost sure he was going to ask her out!

"You might want to try concealing your bluetooth next time, just a bit of advice," he said, before ducking out again, and Molly's face paled in record speed.

"What did he say?" Pauline asked excitedly.

"He said... that this was the worst plan yet."

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><p>The Personal Blog of Molly Hooper:<p>

_Hey. So... another plan foiled. Surprise, surprise. I'm not in the greatest mood, so please excuse me for foulness. The bad news is that 'He' didn't fall for the plan, as usual. He even knew what we were doing! So Pauline feeding me lines... maybe not the best plan. I kept stuttering, and it was all my fault. But, hey, if 'HE' was staring at you with his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes, you would've screwed up too. And, if he WAS staring at you with his gorgeous, gorgeous eyes, I might have murdered you already for even thinking about him! … like I said, pretty foul mood. _

_-Molly_

_**1 **__comment:_

_**MollyH:** I need a tea._

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><p><strong><em>Sorry it's taken so long to update, my lovely readers! What with finishing up a show I was engaged in, camping, writing for various other fandoms, and my birthday coming up, I've been very busy! But rest assured, more chapters are to come! :) Hope you enjoyed this one!<em>**

***NOTE: There is no such thing as Copper's Flu. I made it up, so don't try looking for it :P**

**Best Wishes,**

**Aktress.**


	4. The Science of Birthdays

**_AHHHHH! I'm alive! XD You don't even know how sorry I am for not posting in forever! I've just been on writers block for the story that I write when I'm on writers block. That's how bad I am. Anywho, I've been busy with my Phantom of the Opera story and haven't had the time to write another chapter for this. However, I *finally* got around to writing this. Enjoy!_**

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><p><em><strong>The Science of Birthdays<strong>_

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><p>Sundays were never Molly's favorite. She'd wake up, go to church (it was this lovely little church just right outside of London, and Molly was quite enjoying her little ritual of attending mass every week), come home, lounge about all day doing nothing, and go to bed. They always left her bored, and anxious for Monday to roll around so she could go to work, the highlight of her life. It wasn't so much the morgue as it was seeing Sherlock Holmes come in every now and then.<p>

Molly was at this particular moment lazily lying on the sofa, her laptop in front of her. She payed no mind to it, and had a little piece of paper in front of her on which she was scribbling. A dreamy look on her face, she added a few details to her "masterpiece" stick doodle of Sherlock and her holding hands. Molly bit her lip and grinned like some kind of nervous, love-sick schoolgirl. A "ping!" from her computer brought her eyes up to it's screen. It was her Facebook page which she had lost interest in a few minutes ago, and a new little message had popped up. It was Pauline, Molly's friend who she shared an apartment with. Pauline was on vacation in Maine, USA, visiting her relatives, and wouldn't be back for at least three more days.

**Pauline: Hey girly!**

**Molly: Hi! How's America?**

**Pauline: Meh... it's okay. Everyone keeps commenting on my accent in the store. :P**

**Molly: LOL I bet you sound pretty funny to them.**

**Pauline: Guess so. So what did you get him?**

**Molly: ?**

**Pauline: Sherlock? You know, for tomorrow?**

**Molly: What? What's wrong with him!**

**Pauline: :O Oh God, really, Molly? Don't you read his blog? Tomorrow's his birthday!**

**Molly: OMG WHAT? HE NEVER SAID ANYTHING LIKE THAT IN HIS BLOG! FREAKING! OUT!**

**Pauline: Chill! He never really said it, I don't think. I just know because it's on his profile. **

**Molly: Why were you reading his profile?**

**Pauline: RELAX. I'm not about to fight you for him. I'm engaged, remember? **

**Pauline: If you MUST know, it was for you. I was trying to think of new plot, ya' know?**

**Molly: Yeah**

**Pauline: But I stumbled across his birthday. He probably wouldn't want to make a fuss about it.**

**Molly: WHERE DOES HE SAY IT?**

**Molly. OH MY GOSH I SEE IT! I'm on the page, it IS tomorrow! OMG OMG OMG I HAVE TO GO GET SOMETHING FOR HIM!**

**Molly: BYEEEEEE!**

**Pauline: Molly, don't get anything wayyyyyy out of price range, m'kay? I don't want to come home and find you had to sell it for money to spend. **

**Molly: Okay gtg bye!**

Molly quickly closed the chat window and slammed her laptop shut, probably with more force than she should've. She leaped up from the couch, nearly stepping on her cat, Toby, who meowed loudly in protest. "Sorry, Toby!" Molly called as she raced into her bedroom pulling on a pair of mismatched socks and old tennis shoes. In a flash, she had grabbed her purse and was out the door bound for the mall where Sherlock's perfect gift would be.

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><p>It turned out that everyone and their dog was also out at the mall, and Molly bit her lip as she fought her way past the crowds of gossipy teenage girls, their gossipy mothers, and their mother's gossipy mothers who stopped in the middle of every single door. It seemed ages before Molly finally made it into a nearby shop, and was relieved to be out of the traffic jam.<p>

Glancing about the shop, Molly realized she was in Victoria's Secret, and decided in a spur of a moment that Sherlock's present was NOT to be found in there. However, there _was _a very cute underwear display on a mannequin, and Molly internally debated whether or not she should look into buying it. In the end, Molly threw herself into the ocean of people with a Victoria's Secret bag, and $25 charged on her debit card.

Next, Molly looked around for something practical, somewhere Sherlock might shop. Did they have a Detective's Emporium or something? It'd be awfully handy, after all. However, Molly pursed her lips and walked over to a store that looked like it had Men's clothes in it. She took one step in and looked around. But just moments later, there was a young man in his mid-twenties with a big grin plastered on his face in front of Molly.

"Hi, there! Is there anything I can help you with?" he asked, full of bubbles and air. Normally, Molly would feign a grin and say she was fine because of her slight social awkwardness, but she couldn't spend all day looking and looking. She also had to find time to write out her long love card to him, of course.

"Uh, actually, yeah," Molly said with a shy smile. "I'm looking for... I don't know."

"Well, it's awfully hard to help you find what you're looking for if you don't know what you're looking for," the man laughed loudly and Molly felt her cheeks burn as half the store looked over at her.

"Yeah, ha ha," Molly faked laughed. "But, uh, I'm looking for a birthday present for my, uh..." Molly swallowed, before squeaking out, "Boyfriend?"

"Ohhhhh," the man said childishly. "I see now, it's your boyfriend's birthday, and you're looking for the perfect birthday present. Well, lucky for you, I'm here to help! Now, what does your boyfriend like?" The man, who by looking at his nametag, Molly learned his name was Kevin, began leading her down the aisle.

"Um... well, he...he likes detective work. He's very good at solving mysteries," Molly said truthfully.

"A detective, huh? Isn't that wonderful! I've got _just _the thing!" he lead Molly over to the register, and rummaged through the back. Molly stood there awkwardly and shifted her weight before he finally pulled something out, slamming it down on the counter and grinning. Molly raised an eyebrow.

"Hiking boots?" she asked slowly.

"Of course! What else could your detective need? A good pair of hiking boots does the job! Especially great for trips to the mountains, the forest, America itself..."

"America?" she repeated.

"Hiking boots are all the rage for men in America! Even the president loves them!" he grinned brilliantly. Molly wasn't quite sure that this man was in his right mind, but asked what price they were anyways. "Only £ 399.99, and if you ask me, that's-" but Molly didn't need to hear any more to know that she couldn't even afford to breath on the shoes. She gasped and took a step back, shaking her head.

"Oh, no. I'm afraid I can't afford that," she smiled at him, thinking that it might be best if she left this expensive store. But Kevin, who seemed to have worked his whole life selling cars before working here, caught her attention before she could leave.

"Okay, okay, I'll admit the price on this is a little bit expensive, but hey! We've got plenty more any boyfriend of yours could want!" Kevin disappeared with the boots that were most likely diamond encrusted to cost nearly four hundred pounds. He came back up again with the thing behind his back. He smiled like he knew a huge secret and was about to tell her. Molly stood there awkwardly, waiting to be shown the product she hoped was a few hundred pounds cheaper. "Now, here we have something that will be perfect for your man." When Kevin pulled a pair of boxers with hearts littering them, Molly blushed red as a fireengine.

"Oh, my God," she squeaked, turning away from the boxers. As much as she liked the image of Sherlock wearing those boxers, smiling at her, in her head, giving them to him would make her explode from embarrassment. "Uh, no. No, no, no." Molly said and started leaving the store. Kevin tried his hardest to get Molly to stay.

"Miss! Wait, please! There's plenty more to see here!" Kevin called after her.

Molly thought she'd seen quite enough from that store, and without another word to the over-eager salesman, she hurried out of the embarrassing shop.

After those two experiences, Molly was more hesitant with her store-picking. Anything with pink in the shop window was out of the question, and men's clothing stores held more horror for her than ever before. Finally, she found herself in a little costume shop. One style of hat, a deerstalker, the tag said, stuck out to her in particular. It was plaid, and it almost made her think of Sherlock. She didn't know why, but she thought that Sherlock's detective work needed a hat such as it. After checking that the price wasn't too ridiculous, Molly paid for it and left the mall with relief.

Molly arrived back at the apartment with her spirits higher than ever. She'd make herself a gourmet dinner (Top Ramen), wrap up his gift, and write out a long and thoughtful letter that she'd give with the present. Maybe, just maybe, after she gave him his gift, Sherlock would think of Molly in a more positive, even loving, way.

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><p>When Molly arrived at work, she bound in, hoping to find Sherlock waiting for her to give him her present. Unfortunately, the secretary said she hadn't heard that he'd come in yet. Her heart sank a little bit, but she kept high hopes that he'd stop in that day. She kept the present and card in her bag, and tried to go through a normal day of working with the dead without putting in too much thought regarding Sherlock.<p>

Unfortunately, the more Molly tried to not think about him, the more she did. _What if he hates his present? I bet he hates hats. Oh, why did I have to buy him a hat? What was I thinking? Who wears hats anymore, anyways? _She went on like that all day, scared to death that Sherlock would hate her even more once she gave him the present. Eventually, the end of her work day was coming up quick and any excitement Molly had that day had shrunk into nothing, and the sadness that she couldn't have even given him her letter.

Molly sighed and began to take off her lab coat, walking into the break room to retrieve her bag. Much to her surprise, as the break room door swung behind her, she found the world's hottes- er, _only_ consulting detective, staring intently at his iPhone. Molly's heart exploded with the joy that she thought had been lost, and nearly squeaked. She must've actually squeaked, because Sherlock looked up from his phone and noticed her. "Oh, hello, Molly," he said, turning his attention back to his phone.

"H-hi!" Molly said in a high pitched voice. She blushed and cleared her throat. "Er, happy birthday," she managed.

Sherlock kept his attention focused on the phone, but mumbled back, "Another year older, oh joy."

Molly saw this as the perfect opportunity to present his present, forgetting all her foul thoughts about it. "Ha ha, I know right? I uh... I bought you a present, Sherlock," she said with a grin she couldn't resist.

Sherlock actually looked up from his phone at her with slight surprise and amusement. "Is that so?"

"Y-yeah, it's right here in my bag. I've been waiting for you to come by all day... that is, I mean, not like a serial killer or anything! Your present is not a bomb or anything!" she added, just to make sure he wasn't suspicious. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything as Molly nervously pulled the wrapped hat out. Molly was glad it was only a month or so until Christmas, because little cats in Santa hats decorated the paper cheerfully. It was the only wrapping paper in her house, and the only bags she had were either bright pink, was covered with sparkles, had some girly reference, or a combination of the three (namely the Victoria's Secret bag). Molly decided that the cats would have to do.

Molly took the present and the card out of her bag and looked to Sherlock, who was busy typing across his phone, which had vibrated only seconds ago. Molly bit her lip nervously, hoping he wouldn't just run off as soon as he opened the present. Much to her relief, he put his phone in his pocket and rose up from the couch. She had his full attention! Molly nearly giggled as she shyly handed the gift over to him. He looked either confused or amused by the wrapping paper, but at least he wasn't revolted by it. Molly was almost jumping in her socks with anticipation as he unwrapped it and held the deerstalker in his hands.

He looked a bit puzzled by it, so Molly explained. "It's called a deerstalker, I saw it in the mall and I uh... it reminded me of you. Like your detective work and stuff."

"Odd..." he commented. "I wouldn't have connected detective work with a deerstalker. What made you think of that?"

Molly racked her brain for a reply. "Uh... I... don't really know. It just seemed to... fit?"

"Huh," Sherlock shrugged and held the hat to his side, not even bothering to try it on. "Thank you, Molly," he said, then looked towards the door. Suddenly, he turned back to look at Molly. Her heart began racing as Sherlock took a step closer to her. "Molly..."

Her palms were sweaty, and she was pretty sure that the world was tilting suddenly. She kept her balance, however, eagerly taking in every millisecond as Sherlock leaned in closer. She was so sure of what was about to happen, and whimpered a little as he touched her face. Suddenly, he was back up again, though, his hand back in his pocket. "You've got a bit of blood on your face," he said.

Molly felt her face turn as firetruck red as she had when she'd seen the boxers yesterday. She felt where Sherlock had touched her face, and when she looked in a mirror on one of the walls, she realized to her horror that there was a splash of crimson blood, not her own, on her right cheek. She bit her lip and ran into the bathroom to wash it off, embarrassed beyond belief and a bit disappointed that he hadn't kissed her like she thought he would.

She returned to Sherlock texting once again. He finished and put it back into his pocket, then resumed his place on the couch, setting the deerstalker cap next to him. Molly sighed and grabbed her bag again, then remembered the card. "Oh! I also uh... I got you a card, too." Molly reached in and pulled out her labor of love (It had taken her half an hour to come up with it), handing it to Sherlock. He grabbed it, but his phone buzzed, and he set the card on the table, whipping his phone back out. Molly nervously and awkwardly stood there as he texted, momentarily forgetting about the card.

He set the phone on the coffee table where the card lay. He picked the card up and opened it hastily. Whether because he was eager to open it or wanted to get it over with Molly wasn't sure, but she preferred the first. He pulled the handmade card out, and read the short poem silently. Molly remembered it word for word:

**A birthday cake I wish you now,**  
><strong>If you eat it all, you'll have a cow.<strong>

Sherlock shut the card again, an odd expression on his face, and placed it on the table. "Thanks, Molly," he repeated like he had before. His phone buzzed again and his attention was once again in the world of technology.

Molly shifted from one side to the other as he texted. "Er... well, I'm off now!"

"Okay."

"Um, goodnight!"

"Likewise."

"... Happy birthday!"

Sherlock looked up and smiled a forced smile at Molly. "Yes, thank you."

Molly grinned back and left the break room, grinning all the way to the sidewalk where she hailed a cab. Sherlock Holmes had liked her present _and _her card! However, Molly's still wondered what might've happened if she'd gotten those boxers for him after all...

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><p>The Personal Blog of Molly Hooper<p>

_Hi! So today was you-know-who's birthday (not Voldemort, sillies, the _other_ you-know-who!), and he LOVED his present! I say loved as in he smiled and said thank you. But he SMILED. And said THANK YOU. It was awesome. It's not every day that HE smiles at you, and if he ever does, it's a huge compliment. Or you've got bees flying out of your ears. I suppose he might smile at that because it would look awfully silly. Like some kind of walking beehive. Would bees hurt? I wonder if they lived in your stomach, would they stings your insides until you bled to death or puffed up like a marshmallow. _

_But anywho, it was great. I bought him a hat, and I think he's going to wear it all the time. _

_Ahhhhhhh! Toby hopped on the computer and wrote something in cat language. I had to erase it all, but he's trying to climb up, so I think I should go feed him. Bye!_

_-Molly_

**6 **_comment(s):_

_**SarahS: Congrats! :)**_

_**PaulineS: I **_**really ****_hope you didn't break the bank! How much did this hat cost?_**

_**MollyH: It cost less than**__**20, don't freak!**_

_**PaulineS: *sighs* Thank God!**_

_**MollyH: LOL you have such low standards of me!**_

_**PaulineS: Shoot me a text later!**_

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><p><em><strong>Best Wishes,<strong>_

_**Aktress.**_


	5. The Science of Texting

_**Chapter 5) The Science of Texting**_

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><p>Hi :) -Meow :3<p>

Who is this? -SH

Um, Molly. -Meow :3

Oh. Hello. -SH

I thought I gave you my phone #... -Meow :3

You probably did. I must've just forgotten you and lost the number. -SH

Oh... Okay then. -Meow :3

I imagine you have some reason for texting me? A new case, maybe? -SH

Uh, no. That is, not a new case. I was just... I needed to talk to someone. -Meow :3

Is something wrong? -SH

No. I'm just bored. :P -MH

Oh. If that's all. -SH

Are you copying my signature? -SH

Uh... I just wanted to try it out. -MH

I see. Perhaps you should try and come up with something more clever and oringinal. -SH

Oh. Okay. -MH

Uh, I wanted to ask a question, actually. -Meow :3

What? -SH

Are you... busy? I know that you're always very busy, but I was just hoping that maybe you'd have some free time? -Meow :3

Free time? -SH

Yeah... like to... I dunno. Do something? -Meow :3

What would you want to do? -SH

I don't care. Something like... coffee? Or dinner, maybe? -Meow :3

I'm sorry, is that weird? I don't want to sound weird. -Meow :3

I really don't think I could fit something like that into my schedule. -SH

Oh... well, that's alright. I'll just have a date night with Toby instead. -Meow :3

Toby's my cat! I certainly don't have another date! -Meow :3

That's not saying that you were going to be my date! I'm just... I'll have a night in. -Meow :3

I see... -SH

Toby says hi! -Meow :3

Well, he says meow. But that's probably cat for 'Hi' -Meow :3

I think I'm going to maybe pick up a movie. -Meow :3

Enjoy that. -SH

I'll see you tomorrow! -Meow :3

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><p>The Personal Blog of Molly Hooper<p>

_Going to have a night in with Toby. Nothing much to report... I tried texting HIM today. Apparently, he'd lost my phone number. _ I hope it was just by accident. He wouldn't really forget me on purpose, would he? I really hope not!_

_I wonder if this is how my life will always be. Night in with the cat. Still, Toby's the best romantic-comedy dinner date a girl could have. He doesn't talk, and always wants to snuggle. If only men were like cats, my world would be so much simpler. 3 _

_-Molly_

**6 **comments:

**PaulineS: **_Gee, thanks for inviting me over for a movie._

**MollyH: **_Sorry, Pauline. Toby will always be a better date than you. ;)_

**PaulineS: **_My best friend would choose a cat over me. That's a nice boost in my moral. :P_

**MollyH: **_I love you, but Toby's easier to entertain._

**Annoymous: **_LOL you're blog is hilareis. I hope you get 2gether with that guy soon._

**MollyH: **_Um, thanks?_

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><p><strong><em>AN: Happy one year anniversary to this silly little rambling story! :P I thought I'd whip something up real quick for it. This isn't my usual quality, but I thought I'd write a bit. On the topic of the signatures, some phones can do that. I just imagine that Molly has a phone that can have a signature. :)<em>**

**_Best Wishes,_**

**_Aktress._**


	6. The Science of Spiders

**6) The Science of Spiders**

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><p>Molly Hooper shrieked, jumping nearly ten feet in the air. Her little heart was racing like she'd been running a marathon, and her eyes were as wide as saucers. Never mind the fact that she was working with the body of Chad Fisher, who's death wasn't classified yet, there was a <em>spider <em>on the ground. Dead bodies were fine. They were _dead. _They weren't going to hurt Molly. (_Neither will spiders, _a small, reasonable part of Molly tried to say, but was ignored by the panic that flooded through her.) Spiders, on the other hand, were #3 on Molly's top-ten fears, right below sky-diving and awkward blind dates.

There it stood, just where her foot had been. It was huge, brown, most probably hairy, and definitely evil. It was more than probable that the spider wanted nothing but to crawl up onto Molly, so she thought. She shrieked again as it moved, then came to a halt.

Molly hesitated, not sure what to do. She knew she had to kill it, but how? Usually she was a sweetheart when it came to animals, even bugs. But spiders were the spawn of Satan. They're weren't just something that you let outside nicely by picking it up and letting it gently into the grass. No, it was something you crushed to bits to make sure it didn't have a single breath left. But she didn't want to crush it with her foot. These were nice shoes, and that was a BIG SPIDER. She didn't want it's guts all over her foot. Molly bit her lip and let out a small, frustrated moan, looking around for something to squash it with.

The spider suddenly made a move and began running straight for Molly. She full out screamed and threw what was in her hand instinctively. Unfortunately, it had been the scalpel in her gloved hand, covered in the blood of poor Mr. Chad Fisher. She watched as the scalpel hit the floor with a clang, splashing minuscule drops of blood within a radius on the floor. "Oh, God," she mumbled, knowing that now she had a body to work with, fluid to clean off the floor, and a (literally) bloody spider to kill.

The blood hadn't fazed the spider. It just got a little showered with it, which made it all the more terrifying. The dark spider was now spotted with red, and Molly thought it was the most menacing thing she'd seen all day. Her heart began racing again as the spider took a few more steps (do spiders take steps?) towards her. Panic settled in anew and she put a hand up to her face, trying to think of something to do. Her own blood ran cold as the sudden realization that she was a pathologist set in. A pathologist that was at work, dissecting bodies, and was wearing a pair of blood-stained rubber gloves. The horror of it set in and she froze at her stupidity.

"Shoot," she said. "Oh, ew. Ew, ew, ew." Molly took the gloved hand from her face, grimacing at the wet feeling on her cheek. "This is bad," she said aloud, making her way as quickly as she could to the sink. All the while, she was looking behind her to make sure that the spider wasn't pulling any tricks. She peeled off the gloves and tossed them in the trash can, then turned the sink on. She ran her hands through the warm water and bent down to clean her soiled cheek and the rest of her face.

Satisfied that she'd washed all the nasty fluid from her face, she reached out for a paper towel, only to have her hand meet with a cardboard tube. "No, we're not out, are we?" she moaned, blinking water from her eyes. She flicked her hands, flinging droplets of water from her fingers. Just then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw _IT._

That horrible spider was right there, mockingly strutting towards her from around the counter. Molly let out another yelp, right as the door opened. To her positive horror, there stood the one person who she kept up appearances for. A fine appearance this was. She wanted to melt into the tiled floor as she watched Sherlock look from the cadaver to the scalpel in the small pile of blood, and finally to the dripping face of Molly. He raised an eyebrow at her, his eyes sharply judging her.

"I-I," Molly stammered. "I... uh..."

"I'm sure you have a reason for this," Sherlock said. "Though I don't care. I came in to look over Chad Fisher before you began dissecting him."

"I..." Molly blushed. "Er, I'm already..." Her attention was turned from attempting to form words to the spider that was crawling across the floor again. She let out an involuntary shriek, staring wide eyed at the spider again, then blushed as Sherlock looked at her as if she was mad. "It's... there's a spider on the ground."

A silence fell over the room while it seemed Sherlock was trying to deduce why she was such a moron. Molly felt her face slowly burning up into a cinder as she glanced between the spider and the cold stare of Sherlock. "Ah... Sorry, sorry. It's just a really big spider."

Sherlock walked confidently past the doorway, careful not to step on the small pile of blood and caught sight of the spider. Without a shred of emotion on his face, he simply stepped on the spider. Molly cringed as he lifted his foot to reveal the spider neatly crushed with it's legs spread out across the tile. "Big spider?"

"Well... it looked a little bigger from here," Molly said, wiping her still damp hands on her pants.

"I'm sure," Sherlock said, turning to the body with a frown. "You've begun already?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were going to use it," Molly said, biting her lip. Sherlock frowned, then his eyebrows raised, and he turned his eyes back to the spider.

"Wait," he said, crouching down and looking at the corpse of the spider. Molly couldn't help emitting a small whimper as he grabbed a glove from the counter and picked it up, looking closely at the arachnid he'd just squished. "A brown recluse. Rarely aggressive, but can have a nasty bite." He looked up to Molly, who's heart flopped at his non-judgemental gaze. Whenever he wasn't criticizing her, she thought he was so handsome. Even when he _was, _for that matter.

"Brown recluse?" Molly asked. "Does it matter what kind of spider it is?"

"Why is it here, in the hospital?" Sherlock asked, furrowing his brows together.

"Uh... I must've left the door open or something..." Molly said. "It probably climbed through a window."

"Highly doubtful. Brown recluse are found mostly in southeastern United States. Why would one be here, in St. Barts? What do you know about the man?"

"Oh!" she said, lighting up suddenly. Molly could help for once. "He'd just recently returned from vacation in Florida!"

There was a flash across Sherlock's face, and he stood up with the spider still in hand. "What have you found in the red blood cell samples?"

"I, uh, haven't done a test yet," Molly confessed. "I just started ten minutes ago."

"Get me a sample, then," Sherlock said. "The spider might've gotten trapped in his clothing, or climbed into his suitcase. If he had a serious reaction, it might have caused hemolysis. That probably wouldn't have caused death, but it's a place to start."

Molly stared for half a second, still petrified by the spider, but shook her head and grabbed a pair of gloves and picked up the scalpel to wash. She collected the sample Sherlock wanted, and she handed it to him as carefully as she could. He had the spider sealed in a bag, and took the sample with a forced smile. "You can sew him back up."

"Why are you interested in him?" Molly was bold enough to ask. "I mean, he's not part of a murder. Unless you want to throw the spider in jail. I don't think they have striped outfits that come that small." She laughed at her own joke, but turned it into an awkward cough when she saw Sherlock wasn't laughing.

"There's no cases around," Sherlock complained. "And I insulted Lestrade. He won't let me in for at least a week."

"Oh," Molly said and smiled as sweetly as she could. "Uh, I hope you have fun... testing the blood."

"Clean the liquid off the floor," Sherlock instructed, nodding at the little mess the scalpel had left. "Oh, and take care finishing with the body."

"Take... take care?" Molly asked, flushing a little. Was he actually being nice to her?

"Yes. More likely than not he was bit more than once if it killed him. There's a chance that more spiders could be on him," Sherlock said and left the room without so much as a goodbye, leaving a horrified Molly to stare at the body. More spiders? Potentially _deadly _spiders?! Molly felt like crumbling to pieces.

It took her a good ten minutes to work up the courage to even approach the body after she'd wiped up the blood. After that she'd hurried as quick as she could to finish up on the body, all the time looking frantically around for the spider and screaming every time she thought something was crawling up her arm. It was a long, painful few minutes for Molly, but she sighed and plopped into a chair when she'd finished. Not a moment after she'd sat, Sherlock burst through the door again.

"Definitely caused hemolysis," he said, fearlessly approaching the body. "There was also malaria found. If he was in Florida, the malaria was obviously caused by a mosquito bite." He poked and prodded at the body, finding the mosquito bites he was looking for. "Working with the hemolysis, he was killed before malaria was diagnosed. Being older, this had deadly effects. Mr. Fisher was unfortunate with bugs. Now, there's only one more thing I want to test." He looked around on the surgical table, then looked at Molly. "Where's the scalpel?"

Molly cocked her head, then rose to look at the surgical table. Sure enough, it was missing. Suddenly, Molly came to the realization that in her hurry to sew him back up, she might've made a slight mistake in leaving the scalpel on the... not table.

Uh oh.

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><p>The Personal Blog of Molly Hooper<p>

_I hate spiders. I really really really really really hate spiders._

_-Molly_

**1 **comment(s):

**PaulineS: **_Just out of curiosity, do you hate spiders?_

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><p><em><strong>AN: Hey, everyone. Hope you haven't missed me too much. I just wanted to announce that I'm now open for requests! That's another way of saying I'm lacking in ideas and too lazy to come up with anything. So, if you've got a great idea on how to make Molly blush, send it my way. You will, of course, be credited. Thanks to everyone!<strong>_

_**Cheers! ~Aktress**_


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